


the man inside the clues

by lifecaughtinyoursway



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Catch Me If You Can type beat, Multi, Slow Burn, Spencer Reid Doesn't Work for the BAU, Spencer Reid as Unsub, Team as Family, The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds), Unsub!Reid, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifecaughtinyoursway/pseuds/lifecaughtinyoursway
Summary: Unsub Reid, but with a little bit of a lightly Catch Me If You Can inspired twist- What happens when the BAU is called in to profile a high-profile con artist instead of their usual murderers and kidnappers? Might loosely follow the plot of the movie/musical at times. No Jack and only past Haley in this AU. (You don't have to know anything about CMIYC, it's just my loose inspiration)
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Background, Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

A quick knock came at the door of Hotch’s office, and he looked up to see JJ standing casually in the doorway. Behind her, soft chatter filtered in from the bullpen.

“Case?” He asked by way of greeting, before noticing she wasn’t carrying any files like she usually would have been. JJ shook her head.

“Just passing on a message from Strauss. She wants to see you in her office.”

Hotch suppressed a grimace. “Alright. Did she say why?”

Another shake of the head. “No, just passed me in the lobby and asked me to tell you.”

“Right. Thank you, JJ.” She closed the door gently behind her and was gone.

He mentally walked through their last couple cases as he straightened out the paperwork he had been working on. No gross misconduct, all unsubs taken down without hurting them or their victims (well, if Morgan had twisted that kidnappers arm a little tighter than necessary, he wasn’t going to say anything), no problems with the LEOs. For once, a meeting with Strauss wasn’t directly following his team massively violating the code of conduct. It was almost a miracle- but Hotch didn’t believe in miracles.

 _So what was it?_ he wondered, knocking on Strauss’s office door. After a moment she opened the door and ushered him inside. The blinds were drawn, an uncharacteristic move even for her.

“Aaron,” she said, sitting across from him at her desk. “I trust the team has been well?”

Hotch impatiently sat through her pleasantries, answering as briefly as possible. Both knew she didn’t really care about the responses anyway. Eventually, Strauss shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. Down to business, then.

“T.M.” She stated simply. “That’s why I called you up here.”

Hotch briefly ran through potential options for what those initials could stand for. She said it like it was as obvious as the sky being blue but he had no clue what she was talking about, or if he was supposed to know what she meant. Coming up empty, he asked “Is that supposed to mean something to me? What is that?”

“Not what, who.” Strauss slid a folder across the desk. Inside Hotch found scads of bank notices, cataloguing millions of dollars missing from some of the country's top banks and investors. Forged checks seemed to be the leading theory. It appeared that the Bureau had tracked said checks back to a lawyer in Seattle, one Travis McIntyre. _Explains who T.M. is,_ Hotch noted.

Hotch looked back up to find Strauss staring at him expectantly. “The case is interesting,” he ventured. “But I’m not quite sure why you’re showing this to me. Looks pretty cut and dry.”

“Well, it would be,” Strauss allowed. “But it appears T.M. has... slipped away from us at the moment.” Hotch clocked that she referred to Travis only by his initials, which struck him as odd.

"Even so, the FBI has tracked down plenty of convicts on the run, ones far less high profile and with far less of a paper trail than this.” The BAU didn’t deal with white collar crime, men and cases like this weren’t his expertise. Even so, it couldn’t be any harder to track down a fugitive with millions of dollars to scatter in the wind than a serial killer, and his team did the latter all the time.

“That’s the thing.” Strauss handed Hotch another file. “There is no paper trail.”

Hotch’s brows furrowed. Millions of dollars didn’t just drop off the map, and even without the financials he was sure Garcia could’ve dug up everything from Travis’s favorite color to his second cousin’s address. Surely the rest of the FBI could do the same. There had to be W2s, security cam footage, mailing address, college classes, DMV photos, _something_ they had on this guy.

Hotch was proven uncharacteristically wrong. The folder contained all the information the Bureau had on Travis McIntyre: a single sheet of paper. Travis had worked at his law firm for three years, no listed address, no college degree on file. Coworkers attested he took all of his cases pro bono, never invited anyone over, and never spoke about his past or personal life. Nice enough, but subdued. In essence, the guy was a ghost. He came and went without leaving any evidence of where he had been. Hotch didn’t have to read the rest of the embarrassingly short file to know they wouldn’t have an address or real name on T.M.

Beyond his job, Travis McIntyre left no trace anywhere else.

“...So Travis is an alias,” Hotch said, feeling a headache begin to form behind his eyes. “Clearly, Travis McIntyre doesn’t exist. We’ve seen this before, that’s to be expected in large scale cons like this. The money has to turn up somewhere, right?”

Strauss pursed her lips. “You would think.”

He waited for her to elaborate. The stolen cash would be the easiest way to find T.M.’s real identity. After all, millions of dollars don’t just materialize from thin air. No, they’d find a bank account and from there it would be a piece of cake. Addresses and backstory and a confession would follow. At a certain point, white-collar crime was pretty formulaic.

She broke the silence with a slightly melodramatic sigh. “Travis McIntyre is the only thing we know about T.M. In fact, it’s blind luck that we even got this far. A task force has spent the last seven months on the case without a lead when suddenly a couple thousand of the stolen cash turned up at that law firm. A donation to cover legal fees in this big immigration case they’ve been working, I don’t know.”

That struck Hotch as oddly charitable for a con man. “And how’d they trace the money to Travis?”

“It wasn’t an anonymous donation, he just dropped off an envelope of cash and walked out. No one’s seen him since. The serial numbers on the bills matched some of the banks hit. Like I said, total luck. If he hadn’t done that, or donated quietly or electronically, we never would have known he existed. Er, pretended to exist.”

That was bold. Very bold. “He’d only do something that overt if he wasn’t going back to the Travis McIntyre identity,” Hotch mused aloud. “It doesn’t make sense otherwise. No one who goes to these lengths to stay under the radar would do something so stupid. It had to be intentional.” It occurred to him that the move may have been a deliberate attention grab, but nothing else in T.M.’s behavior suggested that he was motivated by attention. So why do something so obvious? So easy to trace?

A little voice at the back of his mind reminded Hotch that the ones that thought they were infallible were always the most rewarding to take down.

Strauss interrupted that train of thought. “That’s what the task force is afraid of. If the Travis trail goes cold, they’re back to nothing. The director is breathing down everyone’s necks, he’s getting pressure from the banks, it’s a whole thing. T.M. has the potential to end a lot of good people’s careers.” Something about the way she said that made Hotch question if she was including herself in that group.

However, he still didn’t know what any of this had to do with him or his team. “I’ll admit, he’s fascinating. But I’m not sure why I’m privy to any of these details in the first place.”

“Because I want your team to take over the case, Aaron.”

Of all the potential outcomes, this was one Hotch hadn’t even bothered to merit considering.

“You’re serious?” Hotch paused, waiting for a response, but none came. “I’d be willing to consult on this, or even send you Dave, but I really don’t know that the BAU has the skills that you’d need for this type of thing.”

“We’re grasping at straws here. At this point, all we’ve got are snippets of behavior. And unless they changed what the B in BAU stands for, your team has the _exact_ skill set I’m looking for here,” she said dryly.

“I just don’t understand what you think my team could do to be any help on this.”

“Look, we’ve tried the typical white collar methods in this case, but this guy is anything but typical.” Hotch’s face must have belied his agreement, for she continued before he could interject. “We need to try something new. Why not build the case around how we’ve seen him behave? Tell me you haven’t already started mentally composing a profile for him. If you haven’t, I’ll let it go. But…”

Hotch had to admit the case was more intriguing that he had initially thought. This degree of near-perfection was incredible on its own, but what little they knew about T.M. was even more fascinating. What was he doing with the millions, if they never turned up? Why did he slip up so badly in Seattle? _Was_ it a slip up or did he intentionally let them get close? There were far more answers than questions, but Hotch needed to solve every last one.

Carefully, measured, he said softly, “Travis McIntyre is a clear pseudonym, but one he held onto for three years, so we should operate under the assumption that something about it is significant to him. Maybe the first or last name, or the initials. That’s almost certainly something to go on.”

She nodded and he continued. “His behavior doesn’t match with the crime. There’s no luxury lifestyle, no evidence of extravagant spending. Laying low with the money is one thing, but working for no pay is another. It doesn’t line up with what we’d normally profile in a high profile con artist like this.”

Strauss offered a rare smile. “Now I’m no profiler, but that sounds like a pretty solid beginning to me. Far more than we had ten minutes ago, at any rate.”

“It’s something,” he acquiesced. “I’d need more time with my team, to go over everything…”

“If time is what you need, then you’ve got it. As far as I’m concerned, T.M. is the BAU’s top priority until further notice.” Strauss stood up, turning for the door as if to signal that the conversation had ended.

“I suppose I have no say in the matter, then.” He said, but there was no malice behind his words. She opened the door.

“As if you would be able to stay away from this one,” She returned. Both files were handed over and Hotch headed back for the bullpen to deliver the news.

She was right, after all. He wouldn’t have been able to stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey homies! I'm excited for this one, the idea occurred to me the other day and hasn't left my brain since. If you've got any thoughts, please comment them :))


	2. Interlude

_Spencer Reid rocketed into his dorm room and slammed the door shut behind him. Breathing hard, he fumbled with his keys in his haste to lock the door. His roommate, Ethan, looked up from his desk, startled._

_"Hey, Spencer, just get back from a run?" He asked. Spencer looked down at his khakis and sweater vest quizzically, not quite getting the joke. Ethan changed tactics, sans the sarcasm. "What's got you cowering in our room?"_

_"Ran into Sharon. Almost literally, bumped into her outside the science building. She wanted to talk. I...didn't." He gestured into space vaguely, as if that explanation was crystal clear. Ethan didn't seem to think it was._

_"Sharon?" The name sounded familiar. "Wait, Sharon as in Sharon Greene, the dean of admissions? Why are you on first name basis with the dean of admissions?"_

_Spencer grimaced. "It's a long story."_

_"I've got time." He closed the textbook in front of him and swiveled around in his chair. After a moment, Spencer flopped backwards onto his bed, sighing._

_"Okay, so..." And he began to relay his story._

_It was a safe bet that the entire floor heard Ethan when he blurted "you're getting kicked out of school?"_

_"Well, I'm failing Russian Lit," Spencer responded at a normal volume, far too nonchalant in Ethan's opinion._

_"How on earth is that possible? You're fluent in Russian, and you told me you've read every book on the syllabus already. You couldn't fail if you tried."_

_"Yeah I read the books, but apparently showing up to class is important too." Spencer sat up and started rummaging around on his desk for something. Ethan just stared at him, mouth agape._

_"Since when do_ you _not go to class, Spence?"_

_Spencer seemed to have found what he was looking for. He pulled out a notebook and began frantically scribbling in the margins. "Since I found something more important to focus on, Ethan. I don't understand why I need to take English classes for a mathematics PhD anyway, I could teach that class in my sleep." He tossed the notebook over his shoulder where it hit his bed, bounced off, and fell to the floor with a dull thud._

_"But your scholarship," Ethan continued. "You need a certain GPA to keep your full ride, right?"_

_He hadn't looked up from his desk. "Hence the 'getting kicked out of school' thing."_

_"Dude, you can't drop out. You're so close to your doctorate, it's just a couple more credits." He wasn't sure if Spencer was listening anymore. "I can go with you to your professor, I'm sure we can work this out-"_

_"Drop it, Ethan," Spencer warned. "It's fine. Even without having to pay tuition I'm already stretched so thin just trying to take care of mom and what am I even supposed to_ do _with a PhD in_ math _? Who am I helping, really? I don't need this school anyway, I can do this on my own." Ethan wasn't sure what the 'this' in question was, but something told him now wouldn't be the time to ask._

_Instead, they sat in a puzzled silence for a few moments. Finally, Ethan decided on a Hail Mary. "What about your mom, Spence? What's she going to say if you quit now?"_

_That got Spencer's full attention. He spun around, seething. "She's not going to say a damn thing. It's not like she even-"_

_He was cut off by a knock on the door. Ethan looked at Spencer questioningly, but he appeared to know exactly who was at the door._

_Spencer swore under his breath. "Look, we'll talk about this later."_

_"Later?" Ethan started, but the genius was already flinging open their window and clambering out onto a tree just below. Before he could go after him another knock sounded on the door._

_Ethan opened the door with some reluctance. Unsurprisingly, it was the aforementioned dean. "Mrs. Greene, nice to see you."_

_"Where's Spencer?" She asked brusquely. Not one for niceties, then._

_"Err, you_ just _missed him." Technically it wasn't a lie._

_Mrs. Greene scoffed, clearly not buying the story. "Tell him we're going to have to talk sooner rather than later, Mr..."_

_"Ethan," he said. "I'll let him know, promise."_

_"This is a very serious matter," she pressed. "Spencer knows the terms of his admission."_

_"I know. I promise, I'm trying to get through to him."_

_She nodded, satisfied, and was gone as abruptly as she had come._

_Ethan closed the door behind him. Spotting the notebook on the floor, he crossed to it and it fell open to a page crammed full of Spencer's scratchy hand writing. He could only make out a few words here and there: "schizophrenia", "alternative treatments", "facility", and the like. It knocked loose a memory, a conversation he had had with Spencer. The young genius had sworn he'd find a cure for his mom's illness by the time he was twenty-five._

_He sighed. "Oh Spencer, what have you gotten yourself into now?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> figured we should hear from spencer before we get any further into the story. expect periodic looks into the past from the boy wonder himself every so often.   
> anyone who comments on this fic has my entire heart :)


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